


Sick Son

by mandaree1



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 18:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12394149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: Louie and Dewey scramble to take care of their sick older brother.





	Sick Son

Dewey is awoken by the hissing sound of falling water as the shower turns on. He sat up, feeling oddly disproportionate. It wasn't often he or his brothers slept in past their Uncle Donald- either his alarm or the duck himself. Huey made sure of that. With that in mind, Dewey twisted onto his side and shook Huey's shoulder, Louie snoring comfortably on his other side.

"Bro?" he whispered. "Hey, bro. It's time to get up."

Huey is not a pretty sight at four in the morning. No one really is, but Huey held himself to a strict bedtime, and the new schedule Uncle Donald's job had forced him to adhere to had not been kind on him. The boy opens crusty eyes, the feathers on his body so misaligned you'd think he never preened them. His beak looked permanently half-scrunched, and his eyelids half-closed. He sniffed, long and hard, then blinked at the middle triplet. "Wassat?"

"Oh," Dewey said, retrieving his hand. "Oh, that is- that is  _not_  a good sign. You feeling alright?"

"Define 'alright'." Huey wiped his face but otherwise didn't move, only a few centimeters away from his pillow. His voice was rather mangled. "I feel like somebody hit me in the face with an ice cube tray."

Dewey reached over and tugged on Louie's arm, very concerned. " _Louie_! Wake up!"

Louie woke much faster than Huey did, sitting up with a grunt. He was still in his hoodie, which made Dewey doubt he'd been asleep long in the first place. "Dude, what the heck?"

He pointed at the triplet currently wedged between them. "I think we gotta sicky."

"Can confirm." Huey rolled onto his back, one arm falling across his face. "I'm a sicky."

They all spared a hesitant glance at the bathroom, but the shower was still going steady. Uncle Donald showered like he drank coffee- early, a lot, and extra hot. It was unlikely he would be getting out for another five minutes. But even the pounding water didn't hide their words from his ears, which seemed almost supernatural when their comfort or safety was involved.

"Are we gonna tell him before or after work?" Louie asked, more hushed. One of his hands had crept onto Huey's shoulder.

 _That_  got Huey sitting up, grabbing onto each of his brothers for support as his mind swirled at the sudden change. " _After_. We'll tell him  _after_ ," he insisted. "He needs this job. Just help me look decent."

Dewey got to work fixing the boy's head feathers while Louie retrieved his signature shirt and cap. Huey accepted his illness with a sort of grim reluctance, like a loyal knight who'd been told he had to trek through the desert with his armor on, wiping his beak on his arm and straightening the shirt where it was folded. Dewey slipped into his own outfit. Each of the younger triplets took one of Huey's sides on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently for Donald to come out and say goodbye.

"Oh no," Huey muttered, rubbing his throat. "It's all tickly. I'mma cough."

"Just hold it in or something," Louie grunted.

Even sick, Huey was good at making deadpanned faces, which he did now. Louie purposely ignored it. The bathroom door slammed open, steam billowing out. Donald was buttoning up his uniform as he exited, still fairly soggy after a hasty run-through of the towel. He glanced up, saw his nephews awake and aware, and grimaced. "I didn't wake you up, did I? I was tryin' to let you sleep in."

"I just woke up," Dewey offered.

"We wake up early every morning," Louie added. "It gives us time to plot mischief and mayhem."

Donald let out a bemused chuckle as the final button popped home, reaching out to pull them into a hug. He made sure to plant a kiss on each of their heads. "I love you boys. Be good for the babysitter, okay?"

"Yes, Uncle Donald," they recited. Louie and Dewey made sure to be just a bit louder than Huey, which effectively blocked out his bad voice.

He pulled back, face pinched. "I'm sorry I gotta work on the weekend. But as soon as I can, I'll take some days off, and we'll have an Uncle-Nephew day. I promise."

Dewey found himself clinging a little bit tighter. Sure, things on the houseboat were boring a lot of the time, but there wasn't any denying that Uncle Donald was doing his best for them. "We could go fishing together. Or maybe camping!"

"Maybe," Donald repeated, which he took as an open-ended refusal. "Lunch is in the fridge."

Louie yanked out his phone and went back to typing as their Uncle greeted the babysitter; a tiny, easily distracted old woman, with glasses so big Dewey thought it a miracle she could make it through a door. Huey vanished into the bathroom, and though they couldn't hear him, it didn't take much to guess he was probably coughing a lung out.

They went back to bed not long after, though they didn't sleep. Huey kept a pillow pressed to his beak to stifle himself as best he could, while the other two boys acted as a sort of barrier between him and the babysitter. She shuffled about, wiping the odd mess up and cleaning the odd dish, until finally she pulled herself onto the couch to take a nap.

Dewey sits up as soon as the first snore drifts across the boathouse. "About time. Louie, crack a window. We're gonna cook."

"Cook?" Huey echoed, weakly waving a hand to grab Louie's sleeve. He missed by a mile. "You guys can't  _cook_."

Neither one answered him. Louie came back from opening the window to find Dewey perched on a stool and heating a pot of water. Next to him was three perfectly made sandwiches, which he silently gestured for him to chop up. Louie rolled up his sleeves and got to work, finding tomato, lettuce, and a thin slice of ham between slices of bread. He cut up Huey's, then passed it to Dewey, who plopped them into the pot of water.

He pointed the knife to the other two. Dewey nodded. Louie chopped them up as well.

The boy slipped them into pot and added a bullion cube, cutting the heat once it began to bubble. The product was best described as sloshy brown water as Dewey poured it into a bowl, proclaiming it to be soup. Louie didn't argue him on that, though he looked happy he wasn't going to have to dig in as his middle brother set it triumphantly on Huey's lap. "I'll go see about some medicine," he decided, then headed into the bathroom.

"Uh... thanks?" Huey sniffled a bit, took a big spoonful, and reluctantly shoved it into his mouth. His entire face wrinkled. "Do I taste mayo?"

"We did our best with what we had." Dewey tucked his arms behind his back, watching the older boy eat.

Louie's head popped out of the bathroom, drawn into an uncertain scowl. "Uh, guys? We're all out of medicine."

Dewey spared a glance at Huey, miserably chewing on a tough bit of lettuce, then joined him by the door, grabbing the youngest sibling by his arm. "Then we'll  _go get some_ ," he muttered.

Louie blinked at him, shocked. "By ourselves? But the babysitter-"

"Could sleep through a hurricane!" Dewey asserted, grabbing his shoulders and shaking them. "Remember that time when the tide almost tipped the boat over? She didn't even twitch!"

"She really  _should_  see about getting that looked at," he agreed, pulling away. He seemed thoughtful. "I guess it  _would_  only take us, like, ten-fifteen minutes."

"You aren't planning shenanigans without me, are you?" Huey asked.

Dewey shook his head. "We're gonna run up to the pharmacy."

"You  _are_  planning shenanigans without me," he determined, frowning. "And  _where_  are you gonna get the money?"

He'd already thought of that. "That little pool we've been keeping in your backpack. Duh."

"But we were gonna buy that Shapeshifter action figure!" Louie interjected. Dewey sent him a look and an elbow into his side. "What? I never said this wasn't more important. But we should at least mourn our losses, right?"

"We're getting the medicine," Dewey said firmly. "You take a nap or something, Huey. Whatever it is sickies do."

Huey opened his mouth to argue, but broke down into a coughing fit instead. Louie flinched and looked at Dewey, who could offer no comfort. "Go get medicine," he wheezed, swallowing. "But make sure to grab one of those sale book thingys while you're there."

* * *

The boys had a shopping list they prepared every time Uncle Donald got a new job. It wasn't something that he liked them to do, but it had more pluses than it did minuses, so they did it anyway. With three of them it was three times easier to locate what was cheapest where. And knowing what their Uncle did or didn't make helped them clear the way for things in the future- birthday presents and Christmas gifts, to be exact. Every penny added up to something they might like later down the road. Or money for an emergency. Whichever came first. When Dewey brings up a camping trip, they start seeing about cutting the already thin budget thinner. When Donald inevitably sprains an ankle or busts up another wall, they ditch the camping trip and shovel more money into whatever company he's slaving under. It's an art, and they're good at it.

The king of the bargain finders was indisputably Louie, who had the fastest fingers for typing and the interest in money to keep him from wandering away for too long. Dewey privately thought he just liked having something to do that wouldn't get him trouble.

With that in mind, it's not that strange that the two boys peruse the aisles of the pharmacy for a bit. It's not ideal, but Huey is a survivor, and Dewey thinks that soup is probably terrible enough to knock him out for a couple of hours. A box of instant rice draws their attention, then some store brand spices and noodles, then some cheap ripoff movies, then some crocs, and then they're finally ready to head for the medicine aisle.

Dewey squints at the multitude of labels. "So, uh, do we even know what he  _has_ , exactly? Like. Is it a cold, or a flu, or bronchitis, or something?"

"He has a cough," Louie says simply. "Get him something for that."

"What flavor, do you think?"

"What's it matter? They all taste bad."

" _Touche_ ," he admits, pointing finger guns his way.

The youngest triplet glanced up at the ceilings. Then he looked at the walls. Then he looked at Dewey. "I gotta go take a leak. Be back in a minute."

"Whatever, man. Just gimme the cash."

Louie digs it out of his pockets and presses the bills heavily into Dewey's hand. He walks away without saying anything, running the tips of his fingers across the price tags. He's always done that sort of thing- has a bad habit of touching things he's not supposed to, feeling the textures. It's why Uncle Donald bought him a hoodie in the first place, reminding him to keep his hands inside. It's worked alright so far.

Dewey grabbed the cheapest one that helped with cough and chest buildup and headed for the counter, ducking around and under other customers along the way. There's a short line to wait through, during which he scans the silly chargers and tacky gum on the shelves. The magazines are screaming that George Washington is alive.

Finally, he came to the front, handing the box over to the cashier, who gave the customary greeting. It was still early enough in the day that she looked fairly  _not_  bedraggled as she scanned it, checking her computer. A frown crossed her face.

"Do you have an adult with you?"

"Excuse me?" Dewey asked, but not in a rude way. He was just confused. He held out his handful of money. "I have the money right here."

She shook her head. "You need to be over eighteen to purchase this." The cashier shrugged. "Some medicines are like that. I guess they're worried you'll chug it or something? Or sell it to kids on the playground?"

"Why would I want to chug cold medicine? It tastes  _disgusting_."

"I dunno, man. I'm sure there's a reason for it somewhere, but I don't know it." She pulled the box under the counter with a guilty look. "Sorry, kiddo."

Dewey stamped his webbed foot with a grunt. "Yeah, sure, whatever. It's not your fault."

Louie rounded the front with his hands in his pockets. Sick to his stomach, Dewey forcefully strung his arm into the crook of one of his, tugging him towards the door. "Let's just go."

He didn't ask.

Dewey didn't say much until they got back to the docks, mostly because he didn't want to take his anger out on Louie. That wouldn't do him much good, and it certainly wouldn't do  _Huey_  any good to have to play mediator while sick. Once the familiar creaky boards and salty smell filled him, he found it was a bit easier to swallow the thing in his throat. "I couldn't get the medicine."

To his surprise, Louie chuckled. "Well, yeah, duh. They're way strict about that." He pulled a bottle out of his hoodie pocket. "But I've got my ways."

"Louie!" he exclaimed, grabbing his wrist. "How did you  _get_  that?"

"I told you- I have my ways."

" _Did you steal this_?"

"What? You're implicating me in some serious petty crime right now, bro."

Dewey squinted at him, not buying it a second. "There's no box. You snuck it into the bathroom and took it out, didn't you?"

"Does it matter?" Louie asked. "We got what Huey needs."

"And what will  _Huey_  say when-"

"He doesn't have to find out anything, now, does he?"

Dewey paused. He had a point. It wasn't like Huey would have any reason to question them; they'd gone out with money, after all. "What about Uncle Donald?"

Louie shrugged. "You're overcomplicating things. We'll just store it in the back of the medicine cabinet, maybe smear a lil' bit around the lid to make it look old and gross. If he asks, he just forgot about it. We would've had to deal with that no matter how we got the stuff."

Dewey tried to come up with a response. He let go of Louie's wrist. Louie took the lead, watching him warily, but there was no further reproach.

Huey hadn't left the bed, legs peeking out from under the blanket. He didn't look very happy about that, and sat up immediately when they appeared. Louie tossed the medicine at him, and in that moment a sort of mutual agreement seemed to pass between him and Dewey.

"Thanks," he sighed, twisting off the cap. Almost immediately his expression changed. "But also no thanks. Because this stuff is horrible."

"Chug it," Dewey urged. "Chug it so you can grow up and create a better tasting version."

Huey took in a mouthful, pinched his nose, and swallowed. He re-capped it and handed it back to Louie, who calmly went to hide it in the bathroom. Dewey felt a bit guilty in spite of himself.

The babysitter's voice had all of them jumping. "Oh, boys. Your Uncle just called. He's gonna be late."

Huey smiled a bit too wide, looking green around the gills. "That's okay. We expected that."

* * *

Uncle Donald isn't back by bedtime, but that's not anything too out of the ordinary for a new job. They always seem to test him with overtime work. They all privately hope he won't quit to spend more time with them as they pull on PJs and crawl into bed. It's not that they don't appreciate that he wants to be there for them, but they need money. Right now, that's what mattered. The ever-growing list on Louie's phone said as much.

"Uncle Donald's not here tonight," Huey announced, flopping on top of them. "So that means I gotta give goodnight kisses."

Louie squirmed. "Oh,  _blech_! I don't wanna get smooched by the sicky!"

Dewey stuck his tongue out. "Me neither!"

Huey smacked them both on the cheek before they could escape, smelling of sickness and cough syrup and homemade soup. "Well, too bad. G'night, bros. Love you."

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyy, a sick 'fic. I haven't done one of these babies in a while.
> 
> -Mandaree1


End file.
